thistle & weeds
by zihna
Summary: The Mentalist, Wolf's Rain style.  Extremely AU. The wolves are searching for the Flower Maiden and Paradise.  The mad Noble wants to kill them all.  There are scientists, wolves, psychics, a genocide, and the eternal, crushing hope for Heaven...
1. 00 the love song of a dying wolf

Hi! Um, so this is my first Mentalist story and it's not even canon, it's totally AU...

I'd say that I regret it, but I really, really don't XD.

Anyway, this is an Alternate Universe based on the anime Wolf's Rain. If you haven't seen it, I can't recommend it strongly enough- the entire series (and it's short!) is gorgeous, haunting, and ends like a punch to the gut.

For those of you who don't know anything about it: Wolf's Rain is the story of four **wolves** who are travelling through a dying world to find **Paradise**. The humans think wolves are extinct, so the wolves disguise themselves as humans through **the use of spells**. They're looking for the **Flower Maiden**, a being created by alchemy from **Lunar Flowers**. On the way they're stalked by a vicious **Noble** determined to open Paradise for himself and a world that is swiftly dying.

This AU is based on that, with the Mentalist cast as wolves, crazy Nobles, living flowers, and alcoholic old men. Er, enjoy?

And since it is an anime, silly things like conventional physics don't apply at all. If you have any more questions, just ask me via review or PM!

Many thanks to Cassie, who, as always, is ridiculously knowledgable and supportive! Love you, dear!

Disclaimer: I own neither Mentalist nor Wolf's Rain.

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><p>thistle &amp; weeds<p>

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><p><em>rain down, rain down on me…<em>

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><p>0. the love song of a dying wolf<p>

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><p><em>Let us go then, you and I<br>When the evening is spread out against the sky  
>Like a patient etherized on a table;<br>Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,  
>The muttering retreats<br>Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels  
>And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells;<br>Streets that follow like a tedious argument  
>Of insidious intent<br>To lead you to an overwhelming question…  
>Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"<em>

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><p>There's no such place as Paradise. It doesn't exist. Whatever you've heard, whatever you believe, whatever you think you've seen, you're wrong.<p>

There is no Paradise.

There's nothing at all.

_You're wrong_, you tell me, _you're crazy. You haven't looked hard enough. _

_You're too weak to reach Paradise. _

I was there. I went to the end of the world, to the First Tree and the mountains and the Lake of Souls. I was there, and Paradise wasn't.

Paradise doesn't exist. Anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves.

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><p>Patrick Jane was more dog than wolf. I knew this from the start.<p>

He was too _different _to be all wolf. His fur curled at the ends and his paws were too wide. His shoulders were too narrow and his ears too round. He had blue eyes and ours were gold.

He was not a wolf.

But we followed him anyway.

Lisbon was the pack alpha, of course. We all saw it in her sharp, sharp teeth and the curl of her tail, the way she held herself. She was small and light, built more for speed, but she was a wolf through and through.

It was in her eyes and her howl.

Jane never howled.

But she trusted Jane and so we followed him.

We were wolves then, don't get me wrong. We may have followed a dog but it was Lisbon who gave the orders, and if she'd told us to stop, to turn around, we would have.

Maybe.

See, Jane was special. He wasn't a wolf. He didn't like to fight and he'd rather steal from humans than hunt, and he stared at water and mist like he could see things we couldn't.

He was mostly insane, utterly devoted to one thing, and he wanted to kill a Noble.

So why did we follow him, all the way to the end of the world?

Easy.

We followed him because he smelled like Lunar Flowers.

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><p>In the mountains where I was born, Lunar Flowers bloomed everywhere. They were white and beautiful, and our territory was the envy of all the other packs.<p>

We were proud of our territory, and ourselves. My pack was strong and we were never hungry. The land loved us and we loved our land.

But maybe we were too proud.

Our home burned to the ground, a hundred thousand flowers gone in an instant.

I survived. My pack did not.

After that, I didn't see a Lunar Flower for a long, long time.

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><p>We were going to Paradise.<p>

It was Jane's idea.

He had a lot of those. Crazy ideas that no wolf ever thought, dreams that only men dreamed, that only humans chased to the ends of the earth. Fantasies, almost, things that we couldn't see or hear but _he _could.

Paradise was one of those things.

Maybe we all believed it. All wolves look for it, that's the law of our kind. We all feel it calling to us, just out of reach, and we run to it. But before Jane, none of us ever thought we'd go there. We thought someone else would open it. Someone else would sacrifice everything. Someone else would take that long, impossible journey.

Jane changed all that.

Come with me, he said, and we'll find the Flower Maiden. We'll go to Paradise.

And maybe we saw it too, for a little while, because we all went along. We left our lives and took that journey. We followed him to the ends of the earth, through stinking cities and Noble's keeps and deserts.

We followed him to the place where the moon touched the earth and flowers fell from the sky like raindrops.

We followed him until our legs gave out and bodies failed and our souls cried out for Paradise.

We followed him until we fell asleep, and we dreamed a beautiful dream. There were flowers everywhere, enough food to last lifetimes, wolves as far as the eye could see. We didn't have to hide anymore, didn't have to worry about humans or soldiers or sudden, flashing death.

She was there—Moon, she was _there_—and she laughed and stroked our faces.

"It's a good place to be with friends," she told us. "This one is very happy to be with friends."

And we ran and ran until the sky turned to ashes and I fell then, into the dust, so hard I felt my bones snap.

I watched them run into the bloody sun, one by one, until there was no one left but Jane and I, and he turned to me and smiled as his fur caught fire.

"I can see it," he said. "I see Paradise." And then he, ran into the sun and I was left alone in that beautiful, terrible dream as the world exploded, swallowing them all in a single, brilliant heartbeat.

I opened my eyes and the world was cold.

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><p>(<em>I grow old…<em>_ I grow old…_)

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><p>There's no such place as Paradise. Maybe there was, once, but it doesn't exist now. It can't. It's not possible.<p>

I can feel the ice—or water, now, so cold, so cold—creeping, pooling around my feet, my nose.

There's no such place as Paradise. I don't believe in it. I can't. Paradise is not real.

And yet…

There's a voice inside me. It's smaller now, drowning inside, but it's there, and I can hear it.

_Go, _it says. _Search for Paradise. _

I close my eyes. Paradise isn't real. It can't be. I won't believe in it.

The wind howls. The earth shakes. The ice splits and cracks and the moon glows red. The water rises. Light is fading.

It's strange. The world is dark, dead, and cold. There's nothing alive here, not anymore.

There is no Paradise.

But… I smell…

Flowers.

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><p><em>We have lingered in the chambers of the sea<br>By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown  
>'Til human voices wake us, and we drown.<em>

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><p>The poem verses are from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot. Each chapter will have either song or poem verses from the name of the chapter title.<p> 


	2. 01 bad company

I probably should have specified beforehand: the wolves ARE NOT werewolves. They are actual wolves who use an illusion to appear human, but at no point are they human.

Disclaimer: I do not own Mentalist or Wolf's Rain.

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><p><em>01. bad company<em>

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><p><em>rebel souls, deserters we've been called<br>chose a gun and threw away the sword  
>now these towns, will they all know our name?<em>

_bad company,__ I can't deny  
>bad bad company, until the day I die<em>

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><p>The light from the train cut through the darkness like a claw. The whistle, sharp and shrill, slid screaming between snowflakes, making Cho wince as the sound hit his ears.<p>

He narrowed his eyes.

All around him the Avon Park Playboys tightened their grips on the weapons, waiting for his orders.

He waited for the train to get closer.

It was cold, like it always was, and it was snowing in thick white sheets. The Playboys could barely see a thing, except for the light, but Cho could see it all.

Wind gusted up off the high-speed train, blasting the Playboys with ice and snow. Ice glittered on the dull metal and tiny red lights flashed, lighting up the dull metal, revealing locks and bolts and doors. His prey, in perfect detail.

One of the Playboys yawned and shifted, impatient. Muttering broke out among them—they were tired, they were cold, couldn't they just go home already?

Cho snorted softly. Humans were shitty hunters.

The glowing light grew closer, cutting back the dark, snowy night. From here Cho could smell the food; meat, cheese, bread, fruit, all of it meant for the Nobles. The rest of the city would never see it, and if Cho had his way, the Nobles wouldn't either.

"Boss…" Jon Jon muttered. "We're gonna miss it…"

"No, we're not," said Cho.

The train shrieked on the tracks, the light almost level with Cho—

"Now," he said, and the Playboys leaped into action. Cars roared to life, kicking up snow as they sped towards the train. The wheels squealed over ice and wind blasted them, ruffling hair and throwing snowflakes everywhere.

"Closer," Cho ordered quietly. The line of battered cars drifted closer, brushing against the tracks. The car bucked back, wheels squealing, and Cho swayed in his seat. "Steady," he murmured.

"Guns ready," Jon Jon bellowed, shouldering his own weapon. He didn't seem to mind the swaying, groaning truck. Guns rose from all the cars, safeties clicked off, fingers tightened on triggers. Cho waited patiently.

"Aim! Fire!"

Glowing bullets flared and sang towards the train, bouncing off and denting the iron. The Noble's guards, hearing the shots, rushed out onto the narrow walkways, their own weapons drawn, shouting, and screaming.

Cho nodded to Jon Jon once.

Jon Jon's guns flashed and the warm coppery stink of human blood hit the air.

"Closer," said Cho, unmoved by the blood and death. Obediently the drivers slid down even closer, close enough for even men to jump onto the moving train.

Cho crouched in his seat, coiling his muscles. This part was his favorite.

With more grace than any human could ever hope to have, Cho leaped out of the moving car and onto the train, landing lightly and straightening.

The rest of the Playboys followed, clumsily slipping and stumbling as they grabbed at whatever they could to haul themselves up.

Cho snorted again. Humans.

"Open it up," he ordered, gesturing at the iron door. The scent of food wafted behind the reek of men and metal and Cho's mouth started to water. Jon Jon nodded, swinging a heavy iron crowbar that hit the cargo lock with a monstrous clang.

Sparks showered Cho's feet, pleasantly warm in the middle of the snowstorm.

Jon Jon swung again and again, grunting with effort, each time knocking the lock a little looser. Finally he hit it hard enough to knock it loose; it bounced once, twice, and disappeared into the storm.

"Open it up!" Jon Jon roared, calling up two younger Playboys with a flick of his fingers.

Cho's ears twitched. He frowned, leaning closer, straining to hear behind the heavy metal door. He thought he heard…

"Get down!" he howled, at the exact same second as the door blew open and many long, gleaming steel arms burst outward.

The Playboys barely had time to move. Bullets shattered the air, fired with deadly, precise, inhuman accuracy from each of the steel arms.

Cho swore.

The Nobles were stepping up their game.

The Playboys scattered, diving to find any cover they could. Blood splattered the train and men toppled down, falling under the roaring train and disappearing. The 'bot was _good_.

Cho snarled. He wasn't going to lose, especially not to a piece of metal .

Somebody screamed. A kid—Cho didn't remember his name—dangled off the edge of the train, eyes wide in terror. The robot and its many arms turned to face him and Cho watched the 'bot's single red eye focus on the kid.

Cho moved. He gathered his strength and leaped onto the 'bot's back, digging his claws into the worn joints. The 'bot flailed wildly and tried to throw him off, metal screeching and vibrating in Cho's grip. It kept firing bullets, punching a line of smoldering metal into the walkway and high up in the air. Cho felt the heat of them sear past his face and he growled lowly.

He obviously couldn't bite it—he'd just break his fangs.

Growling, he pushed all of his weight into its back and swung out with his hind legs, trying to overbalance it.

"Error, error," the 'bot said flatly. Its head rotated on hidden hinges, the eye expanding to stare at Cho. One of the arms came around, gunmetal gleaming, and there wasn't enough time to move—

Cho twisted violently, claws scrabbling against the metal, but it was too late. A bullet, hot and sharp, slammed into his leg, tearing through it easily.

He howled, almost letting go, eyes rolling up in pain.

Flailing limbs whipped over his head and the eye expanded, trying to get a fix on Cho, to finish the job. He wasn't going to let it. With a mighty shove he let go, leaping back into the open cargo hold and pushing the 'bot forward.

For a second it balanced at the very edge of the train, its many arms windmilling, its red eye expanding and contracting, still punching holes in the air.

"Error, error," it said, and toppled over the side.

Cho landed in the hold so hard he felt the illusion shudder and he snarled in pain. His injured leg shuddered, threatening to collapse. He smelled his own blood now, sharp and familiar, mixing with human blood and the smell of food.

The kid hanging off the side of the train dragged himself up, staring at Cho with hide, awe-struck eyes.

"Wow," he breathed. Cho almost smirked, despite the pain in his leg. The illusions were good. The kid hadn't seen a thing.

The Playboys crawled back into the cargo hold, bloody, wide-eyed, and shaken. They muttered to themselves, looking around at the crates of food and their friends' blood smeared all over the place.

"Weren't expecting a 'bot, boss," Jon Jon said, helping Cho to his feet. "You didn't say nothin' 'bout a 'bot."

"Didn't know," Cho muttered. "I didn't hear a word."

"Yeah, well." There was something in Jon Jon's eyes that made Cho's lips curl.

Fucking humans.

"Take everything," he ordered, shaking off Jon Jon's hands. He grabbed a sack himself, shouldering it. "For the families of everyone we lost."

The Playboys nodded, respect shining in their eyes, replacing the anger, the mistrust. This was the way it should be. Humans were supposed to respect him. Fear him.

With more difficulty than before he jumped into one of the cars, ignoring the fire that shot up his leg.

The rest of the Playboys followed him, subdued.

The ride back to the city was quiet.

Cho leaned back and closed his eyes.

Another day's work in the city.

Cho wasn't the type to dream much. He didn't have time for it. He lived in the city and the city was hard. He had to eat. It was hard enough to find food without dreams running around in one's head, so Cho simply didn't do it.

He blamed these dreams on the hole in his leg.

He was running. Hard, fast, with everything he had in his body. He was running towards the sun, and the clouds were red like fire and the earth below him was dust.

He saw humans reach out of that dust and grab at his fur but they were like shadows and they fell back, unable to hold him and stop him from running.

He ran for hours—days, months, years, forever—and the sun didn't get any closer, but he never stopped. He was happy to run forever, or until his legs gave out and his body failed and his heart stopped beating.

Cho was happy.

_Huh_, he thought. _That's weird. _

He ran into the sun, and he thought he smelled…

Flowers.

"Boss." Someone was talking above Cho's head. Someone loud. Someone Cho was tempted to kill right now, because he was asleep and happy, for once, and whoever ruined that was about to get his throat ripped out.

"Boss," someone said again. Cho growled. "Hey, boss, get up. There's somethin' you should see."

Jon Jon nudged Cho with a foot lightly. Cho opened his eyes.

"Jon Jon," he grunted. "What."

"Sorry, boss," Jon Jon said, offering a hand. Cho eyed it, wondering what the man would do it he bit it off. Stare at it, probably. Stare at his useless stump while his blood pooled below him.

Cho took it instead of chewing it off, letting the other pull him to his feet. "What," he said again.

"We've got somethin' for you to look at," Jon Jon explained, leading the way out of Cho's usual hideout. "We dunno what to do with it."

"If it's Chun's asswart again…" Cho muttered, glaring up at the sun. He liked the nighttime better. Moonlight was easier on the eyes and darkness was easier to hide in. Not that he needed to hide, with the illusions. With those he could walk around in the daylight anytime he pleased and no one would notice anything odd. But still, he preferred moonlight.

Jon Jon grimaced. Cho could smell the fear rolling off him in waves. Interesting. Jon Jon wasn't scared of much.

Except maybe a shower.

Cho followed his number two along the outskirts of the city, keeping his nose open for any threatening scents.

He smelled nothing unusual, only human stink, trees, garbage, and the very faint scent of Lunar Flowers that had drawn him here in the first place.

He breathed in deep, trying to get as much of that particular scent as he could.

Lunar Flowers.

He'd seen them before, though not in a long time, and their smell was something he'd never forget. Cho missed it. It was here, in the city, but try as he might he could never find it.

After a while, he'd just stopped trying. The smell of flowers was just another part of life here, right next to the near-constant hunger and the reek of human garbage.

Jon Jon led Cho to their gang's meeting place— an ancient, wonderful, gnarled tree, hundreds of years older than the city—and stopped.

The remaining Playboys were gathered around the tree loosely, muttering to each other nervously.

The stink of fear was heavy in the air and Cho felt the fur on the back of his neck rise. Something wasn't right.

He smelled blood.

"Up here, boss."

Cho followed, listening to the Playboys talk, trying to get a feel for what was going on.

"Is it a dog?"

"It's the meanest-looking dog _I've _ever seen."

"Can we eat it?"

"And get rabies? No fucking thanks, man. _You _eat it."

"It's half-starved. It'd be all stringy and shit."

Cho frowned, instinctively tensing, readying for a fight. The crowd parted, letting Jon Jon and their leader through.

Within a few seconds, Cho saw and smelled what was causing the commotion. Sleeping (or dead) under the roots of the massive tree was a black dog.

The creature was thin and hurt, its blood staining the stone. It had dark, mangy fur and it stunk of the wind and wild. Its eyes were closed and its mouth was open, pink tongue lolling on the ground.

It looked like it was dead.

Cho knew better, though. The thing wasn't dead, and it most certainly wasn't a dog.

A wolf was sleeping under the tree.

Cho narrowed his eyes. Every now and then stray wolves drifted through the city, drawn by the faint scent of Lunar Flowers. Most of them stayed for a few days and moved on, recognizing Cho as the leader of the area and realizing that they'd never find the source of the scent. A few loners stayed, but that was about it. Most came and moved on.

This one probably wasn't going to make it. From the look of her she was starving to death and her wounds were pretty severe. The hole in his leg was nothing compared to some of her injuries.

Cho almost felt bad for her. She'd probably run into some humans and dragged herself here after they were done with her, hoping to find flowers and maybe a friendly face.

Oh well.

"Pull it out," Cho ordered.

Three Playboys rushed to obey, reaching under the roots to grab the half-dead wolf by her hind legs. This, it turned out, was a mistake.

The wolf opened her eyes and _moved_. One second she was unconscious under the tree, the next she was awake and snarling, lunging for Shin's hand and biting down.

Blood flew. Shin screamed, trying to shake off the enraged black wolf. He kicked out, wailing, and she let him have what was left of his hand back, spinning and turning to Chun, fangs bared.

He yelled, charging at her, and that was all the incentive she needed.

She leaped, snarling, and caught Chun in the throat, biting deep. Blood sprayed and the Playboys scattered, shouting in alarm.

Chun landed hard on his back, gave one desperate gurgling breath, and died. The wolf stood on his body, feet planted and teeth dripping his blood, growling like she was going to kill them all.

She looked directly at Cho and her eyes were hot, fierce gold.

Cho looked her dead in the eye, turned on his heel, and ran.

The Playboys were shouting behind him, growing fainter and fainter with every inhuman step he took.

The black wolf was right behind him, running his heels hard, golden eyes gleaming.

_Fucking bullet, _he swore, leaping up some stairs and out into the open. Pain tingled up his leg and he swore again. He couldn't outrun her. He slid to a stop and spun to face the wolf, meeting her hot, fiery eyes.

"Why'd you do that?" He snapped, showing her his teeth. "D'you know how stupid that was?"

She curled her lip. _–I was defending myself. They attacked me.— _

"You didn't have to kill the one," Cho said.

She looked at him. –_It's only a human,_— she said. _–There are plenty more.—_

Cho sighed heavily. "Still," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Now I have to replace him."

–_Why do you look like _that_?— _She suddenly growled, noticing the illusion for the first time. _–Why do you hide your true shape?—_

Cho stared at her. "Are you serious?" He said. "What mountain did you come from? We all use the illusions. It keeps us from getting _killed._"

He looked down at himself. He saw gray fur, strong, long legs, and wide, firm paws. If he looked in a puddle, he'd see his true form. He'd see amber eyes and wide shoulders, a long muzzle and sharp fangs. He'd have four legs and a tail. He would be a wolf.

But to humans, he looked like one of them. Serious, Jon Jon had described him. A hard human face with dark eyes and dark hair, stocky and proud. Asian, Jon Jon had said. Asian like us.

The illusions were the wolves' greatest secret and the secret to their survival. The illusions were the saviors of the wolves because without the illusions they wouldn't be able to hide. They would still look like wolves and they would be hunted down and slaughtered, one by one until no one was left.

Fucking humans.

But the illusions let the wolves appear and sound human to the two-legged murderers, letting the wolves blend in and hide and _survive. _

Every cub knew this. So why was this particular mangy, half-starved, backwoods upstart angry?

The black she-wolf growled low and deep in her throat. _–You forget your kind. You forget you're a wolf,_— she said. _–How does cowering in trash heaps and running around with packs of humans help you survive? That's no life at all.—_

Cho felt his lip curling and the illusion wavered. "You're not in the wild anymore," he snapped. "This is the city. If you go walking around as you are, they'll kill you. I don't want to die."

—_What's the point of living without the laws of a wolf? Without freedom, without the hunt?—_The wolf said. _–You're better off dead.—_

Cho felt a growl building low and furious in his throat. "You don't know anything about what it takes to live here," he said. "You don't have any idea."

The black wolf went low. _–Coward,— _she said. _–Go back to your humans. They'll take care of you.—_

Fury welled inside Cho, fury of the kind he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Bloodlust surged in his veins and the illusion flickered, wavering furiously.

She was _right_.

—_I'm no one's _pet,— he growled, abandoning the illusion completely, choosing instead to face the outsider as he was; large, fierce, and well-fed. She was smaller than he and considerably thinner. (_because she doesn't have humans feeding her_, whispered a nasty little voice in his mind. _She _hunts _for her food._) She didn't have a chance.

The black wolf showed him all her sharp, snow-white teeth. _–Prove it.—_And she went for his throat.

* * *

><p>Virgil Minelli bundled his coat tighter and his hat down over his eyes.<p>

Freeze City was a pit.

The wind picked up, whipping the edges of his coat and ruffling Bosco's reddish fur.

"Smell anything, boy?" Minelli asked, watching his companion carefully.

Bosco took a deep sniff, his eyes sharp and bright. He wuffed, which Minelli translated as "no, damm it."

He petted Bosco gently. "It's alright," he said. "Means less work for us, huh?"

The large canine sighed and blinked up at his master, swishing his tail slowly.

"Wanna go find a bar?"

The tail swished harder.

"Good boy."

Holding the leash loosely, Minelli walked down the dirty streets of Freeze City, Bosco trotting at his side.

Several people cast nervous looks at him, seeing Bosco's long, sharp teeth and thinking, on some primal level, of the wolves that terrorized their ancestors.

Minelli smirked. Bosco wasn't a threat to _them_. He liked people. He loved kids in particular—if one so much as looked at him, he'd flop over on his back, legs waving in the air. It was kind of cute. Bosco had, for some reason, given up thousands of years of instinct and wildness to wear a collar and walk at Minelli's side and hunt down the rest of his evil, murderous kind.

Bosco was tame.

No, the russet canine was no threat to any humans. Wolves, on the other hand…

Minelli and his companion continued on their way. The bits of sky showing through the dome above were the color of slate—it was snowing outside. Again.

It always seemed to be snowing, these days. Minelli hated it. He was from a warmer place. He remembered sunshine and grass and days spent lazily fishing on the creek and sun-drying after a swim, heat so gentle it breathed in his bones.

He closed his eyes, letting Bosco lead him.

He wanted to go home.

He could _smell _it—clean sheets, fresh pie, rain rolling in on the horizon. Flowers blooming in the garden. Newly-cut grass where a boy and a puppy rolled over and over and a woman shouted, laughing as she did so.

Minelli was so caught up in memory that he didn't notice Bosco had stopped until he tripped and nearly fell flat on his face.

"Bosco!" he snapped, angry until he saw how rigid the canine had gone.

Every single one of Bosco's hairs stood on end. His ears lay flat against his head and low, steady growls rumbled from his chest. Sharp teeth bared in a hungry snarl and muscles jumped, wound tight. Amber eyes glowed.

Minelli knew that look.

Bosco had found a wolf.

"Go, boy!" Minelli let go of the leash and Bosco shot away, baying, down the dirty alleys. Minelli leaped after him, his blood pounding.

_A wolf! _He thought, and he fumbled in his coat, dragging out the shortened shotgun he kept there.

Bosco's barks were close, just around the corner. Minelli turned it so fast he almost fell and stood upright quickly, scanning the area for the wolf.

Bosco was charging, teeth bared, towards a ball of white tucked into a corner.

Minelli raised his gun, watching.

The ball of white _moved._

Bosco snarled and lunged, teeth snapping. He missed the white ball by inches and it shot around him, faster than the russet canine by far.

Minelli turned, struggling to track the blur. Bosco howled, lunging and turning and lunging again.

The blur—it had to be a wolf, only wolves moved that fast—sailed easily over him, shoving off the side of one wall and up onto a rooftop.

Minelli stared.

A white wolf stood on the roof, gazing calmly down at Minelli and Bosco. It was a wolf, there was no mistaking it—the muzzle was a little long, sure, and the fur was vaguely curly, but Minelli knew wolves and this, this was one—and it looked down on the two with all the arrogance of its kind.

Bosco snarled at it and it watched him—smugly, Minelli thought—quietly. Wolfish cunning shone in its face. Minelli didn't like that look, not at all.

He steadied his gun, peering through the scope.

The wolf turned sharply, suddenly, staring the man down. Minelli watched its body tense, prepare to jump, and he swore, struggling to get a lock on it.

The wolf _smiled_, showing Minelli glittering teeth.

Minelli pulled the trigger at the exact same moment the wolf jumped. The bullet struck the rooftop and bounced harmlessly off it, falling back down with an audible _clink_.

Bosco howled furiously.

The wolf landed on the opposite roof and looked down at Minelli, its head canted to the side.

Its eyes glowed a bright, searing blue—_blue? _Minelli thought—and then it was gone.

Minelli lowered his gun.

Bosco barked at the rooftop, looking at Minelli and then back after the wolf as if to say "let me go, I can get him."

"Bosco, down," Minelli ordered. "I'm too old to be running around rooftops."

The russet canine whined.

"We'll get him later," the hunter promised. He stared up at where the wolf had disappeared. "We'll get him, Bosco, don't you worry."

He tightened his fist around his gun.

Oh yes, they'd get the wolf. They'd get him if it killed them.

* * *

><p>Kim joined the Avon Park Playboys to feed his grandmother. That was the only reason. Both his parents were dead—not exactly uncommon in Freeze—and he was all she had left. She was too sick to have a regular job, and whatever she made doing odd jobs wasn't enough to feed her.<p>

So even though he was eleven and afraid, he joined up with the Playboys and tried his hardest for her. If he shut up and did what the other members told him, she got to eat. It was that simple.

Kim ran with the Playboys. As the youngest member, he didn't do too much dangerous stuff anyway. He mostly ran errands for the older members, fetched them coffee, swiped apples for them, carried crates back from raids, that kind of thing. All of the older ones liked him, too.

Except the boss, Cho. Kim had been running with the 'boys for four months now and Cho had never said a word to him.

Kim wished he would. Cho was supercool—he was strong and fast and smart, and he took care of his guys.

Like last night, when he attacked a 'bot all by himself. Cho actually beat it! No one could beat a 'bot by themselves, no one except Cho.

When Cho knocked the 'bot off the train, he saved Kim's life. None of the other gang leaders did that for their people, and it made Cho special.

And Kim wanted to help like that too. He wanted to be just like Cho—fearless, strong, and respected.

All around him, the Playboys were panicking. Chun was dead, his throat ripped out. Shin was screaming, cradling what was left of his hand. The others shouted and pushed each other in confusion, terrified, seeing the growing pool of blood around Chun and not knowing why he was dead.

Kim knew why. That dog under the tree hadn't been dead. It'd been alive, and it had attacked Shin and Chun.

And then Cho led it away.

Kim chewed his lip, rocking back and forth on his heels. What should he do? Cho was strong—he could take down a 'bot—but what if the dog was stronger? It had destroyed Chun, one of their strongest fighters, before Chun could even react.

What if Cho was outmatched?

_He saved my life, _Kim thought, trying to gather some courage. _I owe him_.

Before he could change his mind, Kim grabbed the nearest weapon—a large crowbar—and took off after Cho and the black dog.

They shouldn't have gotten far…

And then he heard it.

Furious, deep, vicious-sounding snarling, the sound a rabid dog would make. The sound echoed, unnaturally loud, and Kim shivered.

_You gotta help, _he told himself. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the weapon, and charged up the stairs, bursting out into bright light.

Cho was nowhere in sight.

The black dog was there, though, and it was snarling, its teeth bloody, snapping and clawing at another, larger dog. The bigger dog was even meaner-looking than the black one. There was a thick scar on its chest and its teeth were painted red too. Its gray fur was smeared with crimson and its eyes glowed. It snarled, lunging at the black dog fiercely.

Kim swallowed nervously.

Where was Cho? Was he hurt? There was a lot of blood, all over the place. Had the dogs killed Cho? Where they fighting over his body?

Kim steeled his courage and charged, shouting wildly, swinging his crowbar furiously.

He hit something solid; the black wolf staggered, yelping, turning hot gold eyes on him.

_Can't stop now_.

Kim shouted and swung again, this time aiming for the bigger dog. The crowbar hit it across the muzzle and the dog's head snapped to the side violently, carrying its whole body away.

The dog growled, shaking its head vigorously, and Kim raised his crowbar threatening. "Get outta here!" he shouted.

But instead of falling back, the gray dog snarled furiously, eyes clouded with bloodlust, and lunged, tearing the crowbar from Kim's hands and leaping for his throat.

Kim's eyes widened. He and the dog went down and he felt a pressure on his throat, and he noticed something warm and wet spraying into the air. Kim hit the ground and the dog let go, jumping back and out of sight.

_Gotta move_, Kim thought, _gotta get the crowbar,_ but his body wasn't listening. His legs felt like they had been cut off—he couldn't feel them anymore. And his arms, where were his arms? What happened?

He could feel warmth leaving his body and ice creeping in, and something wet slid down his neck and shoulders and puddle around his head. He heard faint growling somewhere around him and with a great effort, he rolled onto his side.

The black dog and the gray dog were staring at each other, but the gray dog kept looking at him.

The black dog suddenly lifted its head, scenting the air, maybe, or listening to something, and then it turned on its heel and charged off, disappearing over the side of the building. The gray dog looked at Kim and walked around him, vanishing for a second. Kim could still hear its paws, though. He knew it was there.

He tried to move again, but couldn't. Something was wrong… Looking down at his hands, he saw red, lots and lots of red.

That wasn't good.

Someone grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over, and Kim found himself looking into Cho's flat, dark eyes.

"B-boss," he gasped. "I th-th-thought you were dead."

Cho stared down at him and Kim frowned.

There was something wrong—Cho was out of focus, blurry around the edges. Kim's vision was dimming and fading, flickering at the edges.

He frowned, trying to see, to concentrate harder—

Cho was gone. In his place, in Kim's guttering, dying vision, stood the gray dog—no, not a dog, said something in Kim's dying mind, not a dog, a wolf— with blood dripping from its muzzle and flat, cold amber eyes.

_Boss…? _Kim thought. _Boss is a…? _

And then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Cho walked away, leaving the kid's body behind him. The taste of blood was strong in his mouth.<p>

Stupid kid. What had he been thinking, getting in between two fighting wolves?

Limping heavily—the she-wolf had gotten his injured leg, among other things—he began to make his way slowly back down towards the tree.

Stupid fucking kid.

Cho didn't mean to kill him. He'd been going for the black wolf and she suddenly hadn't been there, the kid had been instead. And then the kid had attacked him, and instinct took over, and he'd bitten clean through the kid's throat.

He'd watched the kid die, blood spilling out of him like a river.

Stupid, stupid kid.

Cho flattened his ears to his skull. Too young. The kid had been too young. Why had Cho let him in the Playboys in the first place?

_Because a human's a human,_ he thought. _They don't matter. Like the wolf said. There are plenty more._

Fixing the illusion in place, Cho approached the tree. The Playboys were calmer now. Chun's body was gone and Shin was tucked away somewhere.

And the kid was dead.

"Boss," Jon Jon said. He blinking, taking in Cho's tattered, bloody appearance. "Where's the dog, boss?"

"Gone," said Cho shortly. He walked to the edge of the tree's roots and stared out into the city.

The Playboys were muttering behind him.

"Where's the kid?" Somebody asked. "He went looking for you, boss."

Cho didn't turn around. "He wasn't fast enough," he said flatly, and he watched the bustle of the city below him.

* * *

><p>The black wolf smelled Lunar Flowers.<p>

They were faint, vague, but they were there and oh she smelled them. They made her blood sing. Her packmate smelled like Lunar Flowers, but not like this. His scent was tainted with wolf-scent, the flowers muted. They were there, of course, but muted.

These Lunar Flowers, though, they were strong, pure. This was it. All thoughts of the gray wolf who lived with humans and her packmate faded away.

She needed to follow the scent of flowers.

She had to find her.

The Flower Maiden was here. She could feel it.

* * *

><p>Bosco was not a wolf. His parents had been, and all of his littermates probably were, but Bosco himself was not a wolf.<p>

He didn't want to be. All he knew was Pops, and Pops hated wolves, so Bosco wasn't one. He didn't act like one, anyway. He wore a collar and lived with a human. He had been raised by humans and he loved them.

Especially kids. Kids were fun. Kids rubbed his belly and tossed him cookies when Pops wasn't looking.

Other wolves hated humans. They killed them, just for fun, shed their blood as easily as if they were killing a deer.

Bosco hated wolves. They killed humans and left nothing but death and destruction behind them. Wolves made Pops angry and sad, and Bosco wasn't about to let that happen.

So he happily hunted down his own kind. Every time he caught the scent of a wolf, he gave a chase, and together he and Pops killed them.

The defeated, dying wolves looked at Bosco and with their last breaths gasped _–traitor—_but the russet wolf didn't care. He wasn't a traitor to the wolves because he wasn't really a wolf.

He was Pops's dog, and that was just fine with him. He took care of Pops, and that was all he really needed to be happy.

And right now, Pops needed a drink. His hands were tight on the leash and his eyes were bright, looking every which way, searching for any signs of the white wolf who had escaped.

Bosco growled to himself.

The white wolf had escaped. Wolves _never _escaped them—they just kept going and going until the wolf was dead.

Pops was upset about it, Bosco knew. Pops wanted to kill the white wolf and wear his fur as a coat.

_It'd be a damn sight warmer than the shabby thing he has on now, _Bosco thought. Another gust of cold wind blasted them, making Pops shiver.

The tame wolf wished they were south. It was warmer down there, if only by a little bit. Pops didn't handle the cold well. Bosco felt him shiver again and heard him mutter something darkly under his breath. He really, really needed a drink.

Bosco led the way, trusting his nose to lead him to alcohol. Sometimes, in big cities, it was easy to find a bar. Other times, it was harder. It all depended on the Noble in charge and how much he or she was willing to share with the poor.

Bosco inhaled deeply, trying to find his way through the city. All he smelled was trash and human waste and…

He went rigid, drawing in again and again. It was very, very faint, but…

—_Wolf!—_

Bosco howled, jerking at the leash.

—_A wolf!—_

Minelli looked down at Bosco sharply. He knew what was happening. Pops always knew.

"A wolf?"

Bosco barked sharply, tugging. _—It's gonna get away,_— he warned, even though Pops couldn't understand him.

"Go!" Pops let him go and Bosco took off, tearing after the scent.

He smelled it, closer and closer and closer. He growled hungrily. The white wolf had escaped him. This one—and it was different wolf, Bosco could tell—wouldn't.

People scattered, shouting as Bosco and then Minelli charged through them. The scent got even closer and Bosco started to look, scanning for it.

—_There!— _he saw it; a black she-wolf, smaller than the white one, limping down the street. She was hurt and thin, no match for him at all.

Bosco howled a challenge and the black wolf spun, her golden eyes widening and glittering. She snarled, baring her teeth, and Bosco charged her.

"Jump, Bosco!" Pops shouted behind him and Bosco leaped instinctively, high above the black wolf. She turned her head, watching the russet wolf instead of Pops, rearing back to catch him as he fell—

Pops' bullet hit her square in the shoulder and she fell with a yelp, hitting the ground. Bosco landed neatly, snarling at her, and she watched him with golden eyes that slowly slid closed.

Pops ran up to Bosco, taking aim again, this time to kill the wolf.

"Dead," he said.

_—Traitor… —_ The wolf whispered. Blood pooled under her shoulder, sticky and warm.

"Good boy," said Pops, and Bosco looked up at him, wagging his tail faintly. He'd done his job. Minelli carefully aimed the gun, ready to shoot the wolf.

"Get down on your knees!" another human came flying out of the crowd and tackled Pops, knocking the gun out of his hand.

Bosco bayed in alarm, leaping at the man, ready to bite, to kill, how dare he touch Pops—

"Down, Bosco!" Pops shouted. "Down!"

Confused, Bosco stopped.

"Stay, boy, stay." Pops was being handcuffed by the man—a policeman—and he wasn't fighting. Bosco growled helplessly.

"You're under arrest for disturbing the peace," the cop said loudly. "And shooting a pet."

"That's no pet," Pops spat, letting himself be lifted and shoved away from Bosco and the dead wolf. "That's a wolf!"

"A wolf?" The cop said. Bosco leaped after Minelli, whining and growling at the policeman. "Old man, there aren't any wolves anymore!"

"That's where you're wrong!" Pops shouted, looking around. "The wolves are real! They're alive! They're here!"

"Ah, shaddup," said the cop, and he drew back his fist.

Bosco howled and leaped at him. No one was going to hurt Pops—!

Another cop cracked him over the head and Bosco fell, stunned.

"Bosco!" Minelli shouted. "Goddammit man, that's my dog!"

The cops laughed. "Sure he's not a wolf?" One asked, laughing, and punched Minelli across the mouth. "C'mon, old timer, let's get you processed, huh?"

Bosco watched as Pops was dragged away, snarling and trying to get his legs to obey. —_Pops!— _he called, struggling to his feet and limping after Minelli. —_Pops!—_

The cops dragged Minelli away and Bosco followed, howling.

It never even crossed his mind to stop and check the black wolf.

If he had, he would have seen another cop lift her up and sling her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before disappearing back into the shadows.

* * *

><p>The Avon Park Playboys were subdued as they prepared for their next raid. The tension in the air was so thick Cho could slice it with a claw. Men bumped into and snapped at each other, glaring and staring like angry wolves.<p>

Cho watched them impassively. He knew why they were acting this way.

The kid—Kim, his name was—was dead.

The Playboys were reacting.

It was much the same with wolves; when a cub was killed, the whole pack reacted badly, becoming more aggressive, more dangerous.

The Playboys were certainly more aggressive. Jon Jon was one step away from throwing Rilo out of the tree, several fistfights were on the verge of breaking out, and Cho really, really just wanted to kill someone.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be part of the problem.

The Playboys were pulling away. They saw Cho come back, covered in Kim's blood, and that, to their minds, meant that Cho hadn't tried hard enough.

They thought it meant that he'd let Kim die.

If they knew that it had been Cho himself who killed Kim, with his own fangs, they'd kill him. Nothing was more important to the Playboys than loyalty to their own. Nothing. Killing one another was unacceptable.

So Cho kept quiet. He let them work, let their anger and resentment grow. Let their hate and anger towards him build.

_Maybe, _he thought, watching them bicker and snap and avoid him. _Maybe it's time to leave._

* * *

><p><em>And that's why they call me<em>

_Bad company_

* * *

><p>Song: <em>Bad Company, <em>Five Finger Death Punch_  
><em>


	3. 02 you're a wolf

Introducing Rigsby, Jane, Van Pelt, and Lisbon! (plus O'Laughlin and Hightower)

"Human speak/wolves-disguised-as-human speak."

-_Animal speak/wolves-as-wolves speak.-_

_Thoughts. _

Disclaimer: I do not own Mentalist or Wolf's Rain.

* * *

><p><em>02. you're a wolf<em>

* * *

><p><em>the one that you're looking for, you're not going to find her here, here<em>

* * *

><p>Grace snuffled the ground, trying to ignore the rumbling in her stomach. The crows perched on streetlights and telephone poles squawked loudly, laughing at her.<p>

—_Poor puppy, — _they laughed. —_All alone.—_

Grace ignored them. Crows were nasty, rude creatures. They ate dead things and pecked at Grandma's garden. She bared her teeth at them, growling a little.

The crows laughed and squawked and fluttered their black wings.

—_Poor, stupid little puppy._—

Grace wanted to go home. She missed Grandma and the safety of her den, the constant comfort and reassurance and the food.

Her stomach rumbled and she whined, glaring at the crows. She wanted Grandma, but Grandma was dead and there was no food in her den anymore, so Grace had to leave and find food somewhere else. So far, she wasn't having any luck. There just wasn't much to eat here, and what the crows had they wouldn't share.

She sighed, pinning her ears to her head.

If she couldn't find food here…

_I'll just have to go see if any humans'll share, _she thought. She quickly licked as much of the mud and dirt out of her fur as possible. Humans hated dirty animals—Grandma had always given Grace a bath once a week, muttering under her breath about filth and disease in her home.

The crows cackled. _–Where you going, little puppy? Off too the humans? Gonna beg for food?—_

_—At least the humans _like _me,— _Grace snapped. –_They don't feed _you _anything.—_

The crows squawked, offended, and took flight, scattering their dirty dark feathers everywhere. Grace wrinkled her nose and, pleased with herself, took off through the dark alleys towards the scent of people.

She burst into one of the main streets, skidding a bit, and wagged her tail enthusiastically at all the humans swarming _everywhere. _It was great! The whole street was alive with the smell of food and someone would feed her—they always did, when she had come with Grandma.

People liked animals.

Grace trotted in between people's legs, following whatever smell caught her nose and stopping whenever a little kid giggled and patted her muzzle. She panted happily, wriggling.

She missed having people to pet her head or toss her scraps of bread. It was nice. It felt like home.

Grace continued to wander through the market, snapping up whatever she found, and soon she wasn't nearly as hungry anymore.

—_Told you,— _she howled at the crows. They were lined on top of awnings and buildings, staring down at her with their beady eyes. –_Humans like me better!—_

The crows cawed something rude down at her and took off again, and Grace ignored them cheerfully, choosing instead to munch on a piece of sausage some little girl had tossed to her.

Soon she was nearly full and wandering lazily now, searching for a nice warm place to curl up and sleep off the extra food. She spotted an alley just off the police station and barked, eager to see if it was nice.

She smelled someone else—another wolf!— there, and if someone else was there then it must be a nice place to rest.

—_Hello,— _she called, bouncing over to the alleyway. Two amber eyes gleamed from the shadows. –_I'm Grace. Can I share the alley with you?—_

Suddenly, the other wolf snarled at her, leaping to his feet and dropping his head. His fangs were long and sharp.

Startled, Grace yelped and stumbled back. She was confused. She didn't want to hurt the other wolf—he was too big for her to fight, and she didn't like fighting anyway—so why was he growling at her?

She whimpered, dropping her tail sadly.

The bigger wolf began to bark fierce, deep growling sounds, and he stalked out of the alleyway, stiff-legged with controlled anger.

Grace whined. _–Hey,—_ she said. _–You don't have to share if you don't want to, I can always go somewhere else.—_

—_Wolf,—_ the bigger one snarled.

A little girl, the one who had thrown Grace some sausage, pointing at the huge, snarling wolf and began to cry, clinging to her mother's leg.

"Mama, mama," she wailed. "The doggie's gonna eat me!"

—_No,— _Grace said, instantly bounding to the little girl's side and wagging her tail. She tried to lick the tiny human's tears away and the girl giggled a little. _–Don't be sad. It's okay. Look, see what I can do?—_

She rolled over on her back and waved her legs in the air crazily, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. The little girl laughed, clapping her hands, and tickled Grace's belly. She wasn't sad anymore, and Grace flipped back over to lick her face enthusiastically before the girl's mother pulled her away.

"Bye, doggie!" the little girl shouted, waving.

—_Bye! — _Grace watched her go and turned back to the bigger wolf. Strangely, he wasn't growling anymore and he was a lot less stiff. His fur—almost the same color as hers, she noticed—lay flat on his shoulders again and he was looking at her curiously.

—_That was very nice of you,— _he said warily. He smelled like blood and humans. –_I've never seen a wolf who would do that for a human.—_

_—You scared her,— _Grace scolded. _–And I like humans. My Grandma was a human. Why shouldn't I be nice to them?—_

The wolf tilted his head, looking at her hard. _–You like humans?—_

Grace nodded, yipping happily. –_They feed me,— _she said. _–And they pet me. They're nice to me, so why shouldn't I be nice to them?—_

The older wolf sat back down in the alley. _–You're pretty young, aren't you?—_

Her fur bristled. He sounded like the crows. _–So?—_She snapped. _–I'm old enough.—_

The wolf surveyed her with his bright amber eyes. _–I like humans too,— _he told her. _–My Pops is in there.—_He jerked his head at the building. –_I'm waiting for him.—_

Her tail drooped. She missed her Grandma. _–That's nice,— _she said glumly.

The wolf shook his head. _–I'm going to regret this. Do you really like humans? You would never hurt them?—_

_—Never!—_

The wolf laid back down. _–I'm Bosco. You can wait with me, if you want.—_

Grace howled joyfully, bounding over and giving his face a lick. He sneezed. _–Really?—_

_—Yes, really,— _he said.

Grace wagged, flopping down beside him. _–What's your Pops like?—_She asked. _–Is he nice?—_

And Bosco told her.

* * *

><p>"I didn't do anything wrong," Minelli snapped, glaring at the police detective sitting opposite him.<p>

The detective, a youngish man, tapped the report meaningfully. "You shot a dog in a public marketplace," he said. "You could've missed. You could've killed a kid."

"I never miss," Minelli grumbled. "And it _wasn't _a dog. I shot a wolf."

The detective laughed. "A wolf? Seriously? You expect me to believe that? Wolves have been extinct for two hundred years, old man. There aren't any left."

"Wrong."

"Oh? Where've they been hiding, then, all these years? There aren't any mountain forests left for them anymore, not really."

"They've tricked us," Minelli said. "They've cast a spell over us so we don't see a wolf, we see a human."

The detective cracked up. "_Seriously?_ You really think that? A magical spell keeps us from noticing wolves?"

"Yes." Minelli knew that the detective didn't believe him. Hell, he wouldn't have believed it himself, if he hadn't seen it. It sounded insane.

But it was true.

The detective, still laughing, pushed his chair back and stood up. "Alright, old man," he said. "Since you didn't hurt anybody, you're not going to jail. As soon as we've got all the paper work cleared up, you're good to go.

"Wolves," he said, still chuckling. "Crazy."

The door slammed shut and Minelli was left alone. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said to no one. "Crazy."

* * *

><p>The young detective, Craig O'Laughlin, continued to chuckle all the way through the police station and out the door.<p>

Wolves. The poor old man must've been driven crazy by exposure or something. Everyone knew that wolves were extinct, and had been for years.

Shaking his head, Craig ambled down the street in the direction of the Royal Laboratories. He put the old man out of his mind. He would either realize he was shooting at shadows, he'd drink himself to death, or he'd end up killing someone and go to prison. He wasn't Craig's problem.

Whistling cheerfully, the young detective continued on his way, waving at the people in the marketplace and fellow cops as he went. It was bitterly cold, but it was always cold in Freeze City (aptly named, Craig thought) so he paid no attention to the wind, only burrowing deeper into his coat.

The Royal Laboratories were easily the largest buildings in Freeze, aside from Lord Bertam's huge palace. The Labs were where the Lord made all of his money, in drugs, alchemy, and wild inventions. The Labs were also where Craig could find Maddy, and since tomorrow was a very special day, he figured he should stop by to remind her.

She was always forgetting, Maddy was. Or pretending to forget.

His badge got him in through the wide doors easily and he navigated the brightly lit halls until he found her standing in front of the black dog's cage, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Hey," Craig said, joining her.

Madeline Hightower looked up to smile at him briefly before studying the wounded animal again.

Craig smiled. "The man who shot it," he said, gesturing at the dog. "Thinks it's a wolf. Isn't that funny? He claims that wolves have been living among us for years, disguised as humans. Hilarious. He's the laughingstock of the whole office."

The scientist looked up to smile again. "A wolf, really?"

"Crazy, right? I mean, it's clearly a dog."

"Yeah," Maddy agreed. "Why are you here, Craig?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know what tomorrow is, right?"

The smile fell off Madeline's face and he felt a vague twinge for her, a short, sharp pain low in his chest. "Yeah," she said again. "The anniversary."

"I'm taking you out to dinner," he reminded her gently. "To remember them."

She smiled again and it was forced, this time, laced with old pain. "Thank you," she said. "I'll be there."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I promise."

"Good." Craig shifted from foot to foot. He hated remembering, and looking at her and seeing how she remembered. It had been a couple of years but the grief was still raw. No one lost their entire family and got through it okay. "Pick you up at eight?"

"That's fine." Maddy went back to staring at the dog and Craig felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"See you then," he said, and hurried out.

"Bye," she called after him. Her eyes were still fixed on the black dog. "Three years," she murmured. The dog didn't stir, really, except for a slight twitch of the ears. It was listening, Madeline knew it.

She sighed heavily, running her hands through her hair. "A wolf," she mused outloud. "An honest-to-God wolf, in Freeze City. Is it really that time already?"

The dog didn't answer and Hightower turned to go, her heels clicking on the floor. She left the dog alone in its cage and walked purposefully through the hallways, all the way to a door only three people could open.

With her card, Madeline Hightower opened the door and stepped inside. Greenish light spilled out from a large, glass container and, just before she closed the door, one could see a woman, asleep and dressed in white, floating in the sparkling liquid.

* * *

><p>Rigsby pinned his ears to his head and dodged the loud punks that tore past, shouting at each other. He knew by now to step out of there way so they wouldn't run over his feet, and they shot by him without even looking at him a second time.<p>

This was okay, though. This was good, this was normal. This was The Routine.

Rigsby had been living in Freeze City for nearly a year now, and he had a Routine that he followed every day.

It started with a walk through the park to see if anyone had left any scraps for the birds. Then he went through East Market for some ham, then West Market for pepperoni sticks, then North Market for sandwiches he stole from benches when fat businessmen weren't looking.

It was a good system, really. Whenever food went missing, people tended to look for kids or dogs, and Rigsby looked like neither.

He'd never seen what his illusion looked like, but from what he'd learned from humans he was a tall, dark-haired, respectable-looking man, not the kind of person to steal food at all.

(Not that he _was _a person, but still, whatever works, right?)

The illusions were useful, he had to admit it. The only thing off about his own was that it didn't hide his collar; his human shape had a collar too, and some people gave that weird looks.

But, Rigsby rationalized, if they saw him as a wolf they'd give him even stranger looks because he was way too big to be a dog. Since he didn't want to get shot and killed, he figured the looks he got for his collar were a good trade off.

Rigsby shambled through North Market, keeping his nose open for any unattended sandwiches. The human girls all smiled at him as he passed and he smiled back because that's what humans did. He laughed and waved and talked to people in the streets like he did everyday, and swiped a sandwich, munching on it happily.

The Routine never failed to keep him well-fed.

As per Routine he continued down the street, turning out of the Market and onto one of the smaller side streets. The sandwich was _awesome_, his favorite kind, and he whined happily to himself.

"Good sandwich?"

Rigsby started, nearly dropping his food. No one was ever down this street—this wasn't part of the Routine. The sharp scent of wolf hit his nose, tempered by a sweeter scent that he couldn't name, and he pinned his ears to his head warily.

A man stood at the other end of the street, smiling at Rigsby. He was shorter, thinner, well-dressed and curly-haired, and he wasn't really a man. For a second the illusion flickered and Rigsby saw a flash of a wolf, white and blue-eyed but kind of strange-looking, like he wasn't really all wolf, only part-way.

Rigsby finished his sandwich and eyed the other wolf.

"Who are you?" Rigsby said warily. This definitely wasn't the wolf who ran the south part of Freeze City—Rigsby had seen him a few times and that wolf was gray. No, this was a new wolf in Freeze, and Rigsby hoped he was friendly.

"Just a traveler," the white wolf said. His illusion smiled widely. "You can call me Jane."

"Jane?"

The newcomer shrugged. "It's a name, right?"

"I guess." Risgby eyed him, not convinced this man wasn't a threat to his Routine. "What brings you to Freeze?"

The other's blue eyes were sharp. "Same thing that brought you," he said. "The smell of Lunar Flowers."

Rigsby blinked, startled. "How did you—"

"I know things," Jane said dismissively. "That you live by a routine here, for example, and you're getting restless."

"I am not!" Rigsby snapped defensively. "I like it here."

"Please," the blue-eyed stranger said. "No need to put your hackles up. It's just an observation. Anyway, I'm not here to rile you up or steal your food, so you don't have to worry."

"I wasn't—" Rigsby started, but then he stopped because he kind of _was_. Strange wolves always took food—that's why they stopped in Freeze in the first place. "Why are you here, then?" He grumbled, embarrassed.

Jane smiled. "I need your help," he said. "My packmate has been taken by the police. I need to get her back or they'll kill her."

"You need _my _help?"

Jane nodded.

"Sorry, but I'm not looking to fight with the humans right now," Rigsby said. "I like it here. I don't want to have them hunting me."

Jane chewed his lip. "Please? She's important to me?"

"Look," said Rigsby. He felt bad for the other, he did. He knew what it was like to lose your pack, but he had a good thing going in Freeze. He wasn't about to mess that up even if a wolf was going to be killed.

Jane sighed, stepping closer. The sweet, familiar scent sharpened and hit Rigsby's nose hard. He reeled, half-intoxicated, and the scent washed over him. He suddenly felt calmer, more at peace, than he'd ever been before, and he blinked sleepily at Jane.

"I know you're comfortable," Jane said. "I know you like it here, sometimes. But remember why you came in the first place?"

"Lunar Flowers," Rigsby murmured.

Jane's blue eyes glittered. "Yes," he said. "Don't you want to find them? Don't you want to find her?"

"Her?"

"The Flower Maiden."

A shiver shuddered down Rigsby's spine and his fur stood on end. "The Flower Maiden?"

Jane smiled, and through the illusion Rigsby saw the wolf bare his teeth.

* * *

><p>"You're free to go." The police officer on duty unlocked Minelli's handcuffs.<p>

Minelli rubbed his wrists and muttered under his breath, stalking out the door into the cold city air. Dusk was falling fast—soon it would be too dark, and too dangerous, to hunt. He hoped Bosco was nearby. They could find a bar to hunker down in for the night and renew the hunt in the morning.

He whistled sharply. "Bosco! Here boy!"

A sharp bark was all the warning Minelli got before Bosco hit him in the back of the legs, pressing up against him, licking his hands, whining low in his throat.

"Easy, boy," he murmured. "I'm alright." He tangled his fingers in Bosco's thick fur. "And how are you? Good? You didn't get into any trouble, did you?"

His tame wolf stepped back and licked his nose, and from the shadow of an alleyway, another wolf—and it had to be a wolf—crept out. This one was smaller than Bosco, younger too, by the look of her, but her fur was almost the exact same shade of russet brown.

Minelli's hand went to his gun immediately and he whistled at Bosco, ordering him to attack, but his fierce wolf-hunter only grumbled low in his throat and leaned over to give the other wolf's ear a quick lick.

Minelli frowned.

The wolf crept closer, tail held low to the ground, and in the dim light Minelli saw that she had a collar on.

_A pet…? _

Cautiously, he offered her his hand to smell. Immediately the wolf lurched forward and snuffled at his palm, her tail wagging frantically. She licked his fingers and danced from foot to foot, wriggling delightedly.

Minelli looked at Bosco, who surveyed him with solemn amber eyes. "What do you think, boy?" He asked softly. "She a friend?"

The she-wolf bounced forward to lick a stripe up Minelli's nose and he spluttered, falling backwards.

The wolf waged her tail and looked down at him with wide eyes. Her collar tag read "GRACE".

Bosco wuffed.

"Aw, hell," Minelli said. "You want me to keep her, don't you?"

The russet wolf chuffed again, as if to say "of course, you stupid old man."

Minelli sighed and scratched the wolf's—tamed wolf's—ears. She panted happily and wagged her tail. "You want to be part of my family?"

She yipped at him.

Minelli stood and Bosco heeled at his side immediately, blinking up at him with an expression of peace on his canine face.

"Come on, girl," he said to Grace. "C'mon, Grace."

She barked happily and followed Minelli and his pet all the way to the nearest bar.

_Shit, _Minelli thought later. _This means I have to buy a new leash. _

* * *

><p>The black wolf lay in her cage, tired, sore, and very much alive. Her wounds were healing, even the marks from her fight with the gray and the gunshot, and soon it'd be time to leave the cage and hunt down her errant packmate.<p>

But first, she was going to find the Flower Maiden. The smell here, in this facility, was by far the strongest she'd ever smelled—the faint traces in the city itself were _nothing _compared to the strength that she was getting here.

The Flower Maiden was in this building somewhere, and Lisbon was going to find it.

It's why she'd let Jane convince her to enter the city in the first place, really. She hated cities. They were nothing but great, stinking pools of human filth. She preferred the tundra and the deserts and the few scant forests to this any day, even if on the tundra and in the deserts she and Jane were constantly in danger of starving.

At least in those places they had the moonlight, and the moonlight would keep them alive.

Lisbon sighed, stretching, making sure all of her stiff muscles worked. It had been a rough few days. First she and Jane had entered the city and Jane had run off by himself, as he usually did. (At least he left some food this time.) Then when she had been sleeping under a tree, some idiotic humans woke her up and she had gotten into a fight with their wolf leader just because she'd killed a few.

She wrinkled her muzzle disdainfully. _It's the law of the wild, _she thought. _I was within my rights as a hunter to kill those who disturbed my sleep. _

The gray wolf, the human's _pet, _had given her a few more injuries, and then, as she was chasing the scent of Lunar Flowers, another pet attacked her and his human master had shot her.

Lisbon rolled her shoulder experimentally. It moved smoothly, recovering rapidly from the gunshot wound, and she growled, pleased.

If she met the gray or the russet wolf again, she wouldn't lose. She'd show them just what living by the laws of the wild made a wolf.

"Are you Lisbon?"

The sudden voice and wolf-scent startled her, and she leaped to her feet, a snarl forming in her throat.

"Hey, peace." Another wolf, this one a gray too, but bigger and friendlier than the other one, stood not too far from her cage with an illusion hiding his true form.

She growled at him for it. The illusions were for the weak. They weren't living by the laws of the wild; they were giving in to the rules of humans.

"You're Lisbon, right?" The gray repeated.

—_What's it to you?—_

"Um," said the gray. "I'm Rigsby, I'm here to get you out of here."

—_I don't really need your help.—_

"You sure?"

She growled at him. _–Yes. I am a wolf. These little iron bars are nothing.—_

"True," said Rigsby.

Lisbon narrowed her eyes. _–You are the second wolf I've seen today who chooses to hide himself. Why is that?—_

"You mean the illusions?"

She growled an affirmation.

"You mean you don't use them?"

—_Never.—_

_"Really?"_

_—It's going against our nature,— _Lisbon said. _–It's hiding who we really are from the Moon.—_

Rigsby frowned. "The Moon doesn't want to see us dead, does She? That's why She gave us the illusions in the first place."

Lisbon snorted and looked away. Rigsby stepped closer and she caught a whiff of a familiar scent, and shook her head irritably.

—_Who told you to come help me?—_

"Jane," said Rigsby. "Your packmate."

Lisbon sighed and shook off the sleep and aches, ready to peel open the bars. –_Of course.—_

"He's—"

Risgby stopped talking and swung around to face the door, going rigid and tense. The door banged open and two people walked in; Lisbon knew their scents.

One was a woman in a white coat and the other was a man in a suit, and the man's hand went to his hip. "Who are you?" He snapped.

Rigsby was frozen; he didn't respond.

"As an officer of Lord Bertram, I order you to answer," the man said. "_Now._"

"Uh," Rigsby said. His eyes were wide. Lisbon could tell that he didn't know how to handle this situation, not really.

"We're private contractors," a new, smooth voice cut in. From behind the man and woman another man, this one neatly-suited and curly-haired, prowled into the room.

Lisbon saw through his illusion briefly and resisted the urge to groan. Jane quickly came to stand beside Rigsby facing the two humans, and he smiled at them.

"Private contractors?" The man's voice was tense. "Under who's orders?"

"Lord Bertram."

"You're the Lord's people?" The man was still skeptical but he took his hand off his hip and gave the woman a look.

"Agent Jane," Jane said frostily. "And this is Agent Rigsby. We just signed in at the front desk."

"What are you doing here?"

"Classified."

"But—"

"Craig," the woman said, touching his elbow. "Leave them alone. You don't want to meddle in the Lord's business." She nodded to Jane and Rigsby and pulled the still-protesting man out of the room by his elbow.

Jane watched her go and nodded, satisfied. He turned to Lisbon.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

She glared.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I know you don't approve of the illusions, but they're useful, in certain situations. This is one of those times, yeh?"

Lisbon glared and looked down at her paws. What would the man and woman say if they saw two men and a wolf walking down the hallway?

_—The Flower Maiden is here, isn't she?—_

"Yes," Jane said, and she saw the way he went rigid, his shoulders tensing. "She is."

Lisbon sighed. _Moon forgive me, _she thought. –_It had better be worth it,— _she warned. _–I hate this.—_

Jane smiled. "You'll be fine," he said, and she closed her eyes, reaching for the illusion that slept in her bones.

When she opened them, Jane was smiling. "There you go," he said, rushing over to help her pry apart the bars.

Lisbon slipped out through the opening and stood. This was weird. She was still herself, of course, still a wolf, but on top of that she had almost an extra layer of _something_, extra limbs and eyes and weight on her shoulders. It was bizarre.

"I hate this," she said.

Jane laughed. "I know," he agreed, "but it's a necessary evil." He turned to the gray, Rigsby. "Are you ready?" He asked them.

Lisbon growled and the gray nodded his head.

Jane's illusion beamed. "Let's go find the Flower Maiden."

* * *

><p><em>old gypsy woman spoke to me, said, "You're a wolf, boy, get out of this town."<em>

* * *

><p>Song: <em>You're a Wolf <em>by Sea Wolf.

Note: Not all characters match up with Wolf's Rain characters exactly. For example O'Laughlin is not totally Hubb because he and Hightower (Cher) were never married. In this story, he was friends with her husband, who died along with her children three years ago.

Thanks!


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